The Fine Line
by sara-cupcaked
Summary: A fine line separates love from a waste of time; from friend to lover; from a beginning to the end. Slight mention of 9x05, GSR.


A/N: This piece will not leave me alone, I wrote it after watching the 9x05 promo. I have not been spoiled for the episode, and the only 'facts' I know come from what I watched. Only a tiny,_ tiny_ mention of 9x05. I hope this piece makes sense, it hasn't been beta-ed. And surprisingly, it's not all that angsty!

Lady Heather, bring it on :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters below.

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**The Fine Line**

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_  
There's a fine, fine line between 'I need my space' and 'Goodbye'. _

"I don't know where she is," he says, and Catherine looks surprised. It's not that look of absolute shock, more like thinly veiled understanding.

He knows she feels he deserves it for being so emotionally detached. He _knows _he deserves it.

She doesn't say anything, and neither does he though he wishes she would ask him to go after her, like that first time Sara left. If only someone, _anyone_, would ask him to go after her, he would in a heartbeat.

Maybe they feel she's better off without him. _He_ knows she is.

He wishes he can add 'at emotionally' after that, but doesn't want to expose his already cracked façade that little bit more. So he is silent, watching her pick out the last bloody piece of glass shard from their victim.

Catherine turns to go, saying something about trying to piece the fragments back together. He nods, and goes back to half-concentrating-on-taking-pictures, half-trying-not-to-think-of-Sara.

She calls out before she leaves him alone with the glassy eyed victim.

"You should try that too."

--

_There's a fine, fine line between what you wanted and what you got._

She wanted a happy family; one that celebrated Thanksgiving with a whole turkey, celebrated Fourth of July watching firecrackers in a public park and to eat pudding and receive presents for Christmas.

She didn't quite get what she wanted.

She wanted Grissom; she wanted to understand him and to be understood, she wanted an emotionally unavailable man; wanted to taste his lips, wanted to marry him, wanted love.

She got everything she asked for, and more.

Got the fluffy pancakes in bed, got him spending the better half of the day in a dominatrix's home, got him to kiss her with such emotion, got the unreasonable fear of him leaving her, got a new life with him.

Got to leave him, twice.

"Is this what you want, Sara?"

She stares ahead, the phone heavy in her hand. The picture of them is stuck on her fridge; it is the one of them and the Golden Gate Bridge. He looks…nervous but content, and she looks happy.

If she looks out her window long enough on a sunny day, she can see it: the sun shining off the water, the bridge barely visible, save for its outline. She wonders if Grissom is nervous but content right now, back in Vegas. She can't speak for him, but she can speak for herself at very least.

"I don't know, Greg. All I know is that I am _happy_."

--

_There's a fine, fine line between love and a waste of time._

"Greg told me you told Catherine you didn't know where I am at."

"So now you're calling Greg?"

"And you're sleeping over at Heather's again?"

"Sara." He says quietly, gripping the receiver so hard his knuckles turn white. "It's not like that."

"Brass told me about it, and I said sleep _over_. I didn't mean sleep _with_ her. And just so you know, Greg's been the one calling me."

"So you're in touch with everyone except me?" He questions, feeling the anger, desperation and weariness bubble up, threatening to push him over the edge.

"Everyone's in touch with me except for you. There's a difference."

The way she says it, it's not filled with venom or bitterness. She sounds.... disappointed. And just like that, his anger dissipates, and all that is left within him is weariness.

"Nobody said it was going to be easy." His voice sounds resigned to his ears. Defeated. Broken.

"But nobody said it was going to be this hard."

"What do you want from me, Sara?"

"I want you to be happy."

"And if I tell you I'm happy?"

"I'll call you a liar."

A pause.

"What if I tell you I cannot leave for you?" He doesn't know what he's doing; his mouth is speaking words his brain cannot seem process.

She doesn't even hesitate, her voice so strong and steady it makes his head spin.

"Then I'll finally know the difference between love and a waste of time."

--

_There's a fine, fine line between a new beginning and the end._

He's staring at the bridge, but the glare from the water is making him squint. He does his best, and can make out the outline of it. The wind is strong; he can smell the salt in the air. He's nervous but content by the way his heart hammers against his chest. It's unsettling, but it's good to feel _alive_. He realises Sara's notes has that effect over him, especially the one he's gripping so tightly in his right hand.

"_Griss – no more games. Start over or end it, it's your move. S." _

"Nice weather today," a voice calls out abruptly from the back, the voice he's been hearing in his dreams. He steadies himself and stares at the bridge, drawing confidence from the steady red frame.

"I don't even have to turn around – Sara Sidle."

He does turn though, to face Sara. She's not wearing that huge grin on her face like the first time but at least she's _there_.

"You're taking this literally, aren't you? She says, and he is relieved to hear the smile in her voice. "'Starting over'," she adds, making air quotes with her fingers.

He smiles tentatively. "God, Sara, I have so many unanswered "why's".

"There's only one why that matters now." She pauses, and the smile in her voice fades. "Why are you here?"

"I want us to move forward."

Reaching forward to touch her cheek gently, he does what he didn't have the nerve to do the first time they stood with their backs facing the bridge, the salty air rising and sinking around them.

He kisses her.

--

END.


End file.
